


How He Met Her Mother

by brooksey



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Family, Fluff, In-Laws, Love, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2391479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooksey/pseuds/brooksey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus and Hannah Shepard finally meet over a nice dinner, with a helping of nervousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How He Met Her Mother

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt on the kinkmeme which wanted cotton candy fluffy love with a dash of angst for someone who was feeling low. Get your toothbrushes ready, people; you're gonna need 'em.
> 
> Original Prompt:  
> "I need something hopeful, heartwarming with sugar sprinkles and just a little bit citrus and angst. Give me a human woman and a turian/drell/barbarian/krogan male. Let them find love and happiness. Maybe they have to overcome some shit. A mean ex bf, a creepy stalker, society, whatever...But I need a happy end. 
> 
> Let them be candy cotton sweethearts. No mind games, no pain and hurt between them.  
> Just this love we all hope to find. And cuddles. Many many cuddles. And kisses!"
> 
> **Rating Note:** I have no idea where the line is drawn between Teen and Mature, so I'm erring on the side of caution here. If this should be T rather than M, feel free to comment and let me know.

"It's going to be fine, honestly. You look great."

Shepard can't help an indulgent smile when she sees Garrus painstakingly going over his image in the mirror of their shared bathroom. He's out of his element tonight, swapping the safety of his usual armor for a turian-made tunic and slacks: black fabric edged with Vakarian blue, an elegant style suited to his rank. As far as she's concerned, he looks fantastic — tall and commanding, the picture of a dignified turian officer. But underneath that, he's a bundle of nerves that she can't quite soothe.

"I don't know, Shepard," he tells her, critically examining the cut of his clothes, the lines of his fringe, his face. "You want to make a better impression than this when you meet an Alliance admiral. Doubly so when she's mother to the savior of the damn galaxy." Shepard walks up behind him and puts her arm around his waist, squeezes lightly. She rests her head against him and looks up to the mirror, where he's turning his head this way and that. 

He rubs his talons over the rough surface of his scars and his shoulders slump with a resigned sigh. Dejected, he looks away from his reflection. " _Especially_ when she's the mother of the love of your life."

"Hey," she gently scolds him, "don't get like that. Mom's going to love you. Even if you weren't the smoothest, best looking guy around, she'd love you because _I_ love you."

He wraps her in a hug, his scarred mandible resting on the top of her head, and takes a deep breath. There's so much tension in him she can practically feel his body thrumming, and her heart goes out to him, but she wants to lighten the mood a little, too. A sly smile he can't see comes over her face before she adds, "Of course, it couldn't hurt to turn on some of that famous charm of yours, too. Just in case."

Suddenly finding herself pushed back to arm's length, she has to work to suppress a laugh at his horrified expression. "Just in case of _what?_ " 

"Nothing, just a joke," she chuckles, "I am a hundred percent certain that everything is going to go beautifully. You make me happy, and that's all that matters to her. You're a shoo-in for son-in-law of the year."

His expression finally softens, and he traces a pattern over her bared arms, taking her chin in his hand and pulling it up for a soft, chaste kiss. "Son-in-law, hmm? I think I might like the sound of that," he murmurs quietly. She says nothing, only smiles and takes his hand. His grip on her is tighter than usual, the worry still there but buttoned up for the time being. She grips right back to let him know she's with him, that they're in this together.

They're about to be running late, so they head outside and grab a skycar. Shepard lets Garrus open the door for her and tuck her into the backseat before settling in himself and directing the driver to their destination. Once they're on their way, she slides up under his arm, curling into the space next to him where she fits perfectly.

She's content to simply enjoy the ride, watching the bright neon outside the window become a blur as they accelerate. But Garrus has other ideas: he seems intrigued with the dress she's wearing for the occasion, plucking at the hem and inching it slowly up her thigh. His face is obscured by shadows in the darkened car, but she can still see a tiny glint in his eye before he leans down to nuzzle her ear. "So... I make you happy?"

"Of course you do."

"Hmmm," he muses, and she hears that tone in his voice, that resonating harmonic that means both amusement and desire. She can feel the vibration of it, almost like a purr against her skin. "How happy do I make you, exactly?"

" _Very_ happy," she emphasizes with a nod.

"Happy enough to..." He trails off, finishing his sentence by running his tongue lightly over the curve of her ear. She sighs deeply and relaxes her body into his, but just as he is beginning to nip at her neck, she realizes the skycar has come to a stop. The driver is pointedly ignoring them, shifting slightly and looking extremely interested in the tiny white lights lining the facade of the restaurant.

"Yes, that happy, but we're here, Garrus." He makes a frustrated sound in his chest and she traces a finger over his mandible in consolation, careful to avoid his scars. "Tell you what," she offers, "when we get home tonight, I'll show you exactly how happy you make me."

Hannah Shepard is already waiting when they reach their table. They have to weave their way over to her through the packed room; heads start to turn and the din of conversation becomes a curious murmur as more people gradually recognize them. Several flashes go off when the two women embrace as if they haven't seen each other in years, even though it's only been a few months. 

Garrus stands nearby trying not to fidget and failing spectacularly, his eyes flicking over the crowd, a look Shepard recognizes as him scanning for threats. _Always on my six,_ she reflects. Despite his obvious nerves, he does his best to put on a suave demeanor when it comes time to shake Hannah's hand. "Admiral Shepard," he greets her, "it's good to meet you."

"Officer Vakarian, likewise. May I call you Garrus?" He nods, and the three of them sit at the well-appointed table, shuffling the elaborate menus aside. Within seconds, Garrus has to make a quick save when he comes a hair's breadth away from knocking one of his delicate glasses to the floor. Shepard glances over at her mother and they flash each other identical grins.

"So, Garrus," Hannah continues, "when are you going to make an honest woman of my daughter?"

"Whoa, Mom," Shepard protests, as Garrus begins spluttering into his napkin, "you promised on the vidcall yesterday you weren't going to do this — _bad_ joke, remember?"

Hannah bursts out laughing and gives him a comforting pat on the hand; he's frozen in place, not sure what to say or do. "All right, I apologize, I did promise." Shepard nods firmly with a soft _hmph_ while her mother stays focused on Garrus. "But you should know it's the mother-in-law's job to make the son-in-law squirm occasionally, and I'm close enough to it at this point, so here we are. I hope you can forgive me."

He still looks a little pale around the edges, like he's just had a brush with a bullet. But when Shepard touches his foot with hers under the table, he recovers. "I forgive you," he says mildly. With a hint of deviousness creeping into his voice, he drops the other shoe. "This time."

"Fair enough," Hannah smiles. Looking around her, Shepard marvels to herself at how lucky she is. After the future had looked so bleak, having the two most important people in her life here with her — not merely present in the same room, but getting along, already comfortable enough for teasing — it's more than she would have dared to ask for. 

She feels like she's wandered into a pleasant daydream, something she might have used to escape her darkest days, as they while away the evening. The two of them are so easy with each other so quickly it's almost too good to be true. Shepard spends the better part of the evening simply listening as they get to know each other, keeping mostly quiet, watching them become family. 

Their exquisite meal is served while Garrus and Hannah compare military careers, discussing the minutiae of both the Alliance and the turian Hierarchy. Shepard hides behind her hands, flustered, when her mother tells embarrassing stories of her childhood around bites of a luscious chocolate confection, and over coffee all three of them paint elaborate pictures of what their lives will look like when they retire.

When the once-bustling restaurant has nearly emptied, Hannah finally makes her excuses and rises to leave. Shepard hugs her mother tightly again, and when Garrus reaches out to shake her hand goodbye, he's pulled into a hug of his own. Shocked for a split second, he returns it awkwardly at first, then with more warmth.

"I'm so glad we finally had a chance to do this, Garrus," she says as she releases him. 

"Likewise, ma'am." The echo of Hannah's earlier words makes both women smile broadly.

Garrus is finally calm now that dinner has gone well. They ride back to their apartment, silent this time but still resting against each other, their hands entwined, fingers lacing together. A light breeze blows past them as they disembark, ruffling Shepard's skirt and raising goosebumps on her exposed skin. He rubs briskly over her arms to warm her, then presses his forehead to hers. It's a turian gesture that Shepard is intimately familiar with; it translates as a kiss, potent with contentment and love. When he withdraws, she links her arm with his like they're in an old Earth vid, and they stroll in side by side.

They don't speak, don't need to, once they're back in their bedroom. They undress each other slowly, gently, and when they fall into bed together, their lovemaking is slow and gentle, too. Garrus takes his time, more tender with her than he usually is, more reverent; when he moves over her, in her, Shepard feels more connected to him than ever, like she's home.

After her orgasm, after he has spilled inside her, Shepard reaches up and touches her palm softly to his scars, trying to tell him without words that although others may see them as a disfigurement, she just sees them as _him_ , and she loves them as much as she loves any other part of him. Normally, he shakes her off if she touches his face like this, still ashamed of something he perceives as ugly — but tonight, he puts his hand over hers and leans into her touch, seeming to understand. 

Tonight really couldn't have gone any better, and snuggling up next to Garrus is the perfect end to it. Their combined warmth is trapped under the thick blanket, relaxing them both, and she nestles her body against his. The peaceful night, the comfort of their closeness, and the glow she feels inside all begin to lull her into sleep. She's about to float over the edge of consciousness when Garrus speaks softly to her.

"Shepard..."

"Hmm?"

"I'm... you make me very happy, too," he murmurs. A pause, and then his voice is slightly exasperated. "Even if my mother-in-law _is_ a little evil."

Shepard laughs softly; visions of decades of affectionate one-upmanship between Garrus and her mother flood her mind for a moment, amusing and a bit irksome at the same time. Pulling herself closer, she lands a soft kiss on his chest plate. "It's okay if you'd rather not call her that, you know. Since she isn't really your mother-in-law." 

"No, I suppose she isn't." His forehead dips to touch hers again, and his voice is low in her ears. "But she will be."


End file.
